


Prompt: Will you look at me?

by hallwayperson



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e13 Never Again, F/M, Post-Episode: s04e13 Never Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hallwayperson/pseuds/hallwayperson
Summary: Angry angst with a hint of hotness.





	Prompt: Will you look at me?

**Author's Note:**

> Angry angst with a hint of hotness.

She walks tensely down the corridor to _his_ basement office at the end of it, the sound of her heels announcing her arrival. She lingers for a second in front of _his_ door, feeling a tight knot in her chest, before stepping in. He looks up. Disappointment. Failure. Rejection, and a wave of negative superlatives hit her like a stormy sea. All of it irrational, she knows that, but her head keeps going, and she continues, recalls his words from the last time they were standing here opposite each other, recites them like a little chant to keep her anger burning brightly. 

_You were just assigned. This work is my life.  
Maybe it’s good that we get away from each other for a while._

She enters the room quietly and he goes on about Jerse as if she cares, as if she doesn’t know already, as if she wasn’t a part of it herself. He even has the audacity to crack a joke about tattoos, adding fuel to the fire. _You arrogant man,_ she thinks. But she won’t let this get to her. She will accept this as she accepted his disbelief when she did in fact have a date. She will accept these things but he’ll have to accept that she won’t be there forever, that things end, flowers wither, and people move on. It’s the inevitable circle of life. In order for something to live, something must die. She is ready to let what little they have die. 

They sit in front of each other. He in his seat behind _his_ desk, she in the chair on the other side, the distance between them like a vast ocean ready to consume both of them. The silence is deafening and she looks up to meet his eyes but he doesn’t see her. She wants him to look up, not for his validation, nor his attention, but to see if he’s there, to see if it’s the same two eyes that had kept her here when sometimes she had wanted to leave. She wants to believe they can make it work, she wants to make it work, but not like this, and something’s got to give. She’s about to say something when he finally speaks. 

“All this… because I didn’t get you a desk?” he asks, clueless about everything that’s going on between them, making her think there’s nothing to be saved between them.

“Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life,” she says agitated, not regretting her tone, hoping he’ll get it and that he’ll wake up.

“Yes, but it’s-,” he says, not finishing his sentence, as it finally dawns on him that something’s wrong, which makes her more furious. 

“What? It’s your life and not mine?” she counters, recalling their last conversation here when he had flat out told her how this work was his life as if she hadn’t devoted years of her life fighting for the truth too, as if she hadn’t lost just as much as he had. No, they are equal. At the end of the day, both of them have to go home with the same worries, the same hurt, the same guilt, the same fear, and the same loss.

“That’s not what I meant, Scully. You know that,” he grumbles, still not able to see what she desperately wants him to see.

“Do I?” she answers coldly, not afraid of how she may be perceived. There’s nothing to lose. He looks at her in agony and she looks back at him. She does not pity him. Frankly, she wants to hit him in the face, not to hurt him, but to see if he’ll come back. 

It’s over. She doesn’t have anything left to say. She can’t reach someone who doesn’t want to be reached. One can only take so much. She gets up from the chair, runs her hands down the few creases on her skirt, and walks towards the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turns around to stare at him. He looks tired, like he’s been sitting there since she left for Philly. For all she knows, he has been sitting there, as he’s never really gone. His mind always occupied with the next case before closing the manila folder of the previous one. She doesn’t blame him though. It’s how he is, how he will be, and after all he’s never tried to change her, not ever. Though he has never blamed her, he has taken her for granted, depended too much on her following him to the end of the world, thus making her forget about herself, but she has reached the end now, and it’s like she feared, without him. 

Now he’s sitting there alone, staring at the little rose petal on the desk, withered and black. 

“I’m done, Mulder,” she manages to say, surprised at how easy it is to say but how difficult it is to understand. And she leaves, before she can even begin to regret going, before she can stay long enough for her to change her mind, to protect herself from what he might say - or worse; the absence of words. No, she leaves. She wants to. Needs to. And little, hot tears slowly fill her eyes as she makes her way back down the corridor to the elevator going up, up to the everyday life of gray suits on grey pavements next to grey roads. 

“Scully!” he yells, as she stands in front of the elevator. She can’t turn around, not like this. She can’t let him see how it hurts. “Scully!” he yells again, a little louder as he’s getting closer. She wants to sit down on the floor, hoping it will swallow all of her. 

“Mulder, I can’t..” she answers breathless. She can feel him standing behind her. Still she can’t turn around. She can’t even talk as hot tears falls to the floor in front of her. She knows he knows. 

“Please don’t go,” he pleads. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Obviously, I did. I never wanted to, I hope you know that. But please don’t go. Not like this,” he almost begs and it’s enough for her to break. She leans forward, resting her head against the wall, hoping no one comes down there. She tries to control herself but the tears keep coming, and he keeps standing there, and she’s a million miles away from him, not daring to close the distance between them. She feels a warm hand between her shoulders and she almost can’t breathe. “Scully…” he says again, “I… I didn’t know. I’ve been an idiot. We should have talked, or I should have listened, and I am sorry.” She turns around, not meeting his eyes. She can’t. She feels little in this familiar place, less than, and unable to speak his language. 

“Will you look at me?” he whispers, as he gently tips her head up. “Please, Scully.”

She hesitates a bit but opens her eyes and she sees him. All of him. “I’m here,” he says, as if he had just read her mind.

“I can’t go on as it is now, Mulder,” she says, hands on his chest, tears making their way down her cheeks. “This is my life as much as it’s yours,” she continues, “and I need to know that you understand, that I don’t have to stand here again for you to see.”

“I know,” he says, and she believes him. 

 

He takes her hands in his and kisses her fingertips. She can feel his stubble lightly and she wants to touch him with her lips. As he lets go of her hands, she lovingly caresses the line of his jaw all the way to the back of his head. She drags him closer, so close that their noses touch, and his forehead rests on hers. He closes the distance between them and she doesn’t let go of him as she parts her lips to get lost in him. He’s hard against her stomach and her legs ache. As if reading her mind again, he lifts her from the floor, hands on her ass, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, while he walks slowly but steady back to _their_ office, lips not parting.

He kicks in the door more violently than necessary as it’s already slightly open and she reaches behind him to close it when they enter. “Please don’t go, not ever, Scully,” he pleads into her mouth, pushing her against the door.

“Don’t let me,” she simply answers.


End file.
